


at war with peace

by wyverning



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Angst, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Introspection, Lack of Communication, M/M, Post-Canon, Weddings, andrew being insecure, attempted breakups, mental spiraling, mentions of depression and anxiety, neil taking absolutely no shit, the slightest bit of domesticity, they are soulmates i swear
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-29
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-13 07:47:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29025201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wyverning/pseuds/wyverning
Summary: Only Neil fucking Josten could turn a break-up attempt into a proposal.
Relationships: Background Nicky Hemmick/Erik Klose, Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard
Comments: 34
Kudos: 383
Collections: AFTG Mixtape Exchange 2021





	at war with peace

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Cathysto](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cathysto/gifts).



> wow wow wow hello hello somehow i have survived and written an actual thing for the first time in ever! i was so excited to sign up for the mixtape exchange, and then [cathysto](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cathysto) yeeted the MOST PERFECT SONG EVER IN THE WORLD AT ME and i thought i would simply perish from enthusiasm. 
> 
> this fic is based on [NF's hate myself](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1f6F7tGDcQw&ab_channel=NFVEVO), and the first time i listened to it i was absolutely enraptured with the idea of andrew and self-sabotage. even when we know rationally what's good for us, that isn't always enough to keep us from making tenuous decisions. i hope this resonates with you and that i did your connection between andreil and this song justice! ♥

_ wish i could give you what you needed, but i can't  
i'm scared because i don't see you like i should  
you look so misunderstood, and i wish i could help  
but it's hard when i hate myself _

Nicky looks at Andrew. Andrew looks back, undaunted. There are few things, if any, that give Andrew pause, and his cousin on the verge of trying to say something stupid is hardly one of them. 

He looks uncomfortable. Good. Andrew already knows that whatever he’s about to blurt out isn’t going to be productive or useful, so it’s really the least Nicky can do to be awkward and mildly distressed about it.

Finally, Nicky clears his throat and says, clumsily, “Are you and Neil… ever… you know?”

Andrew _does_ know, but he’s not going to do anything as unwarranted as dignify Nicky with an easy response. He stares flatly at him, hoping that the undercurrent of tension running between them will be enough to stifle Nicky’s boundless curiosity.

“There’s just—“ Nicky pauses to gesture ambiguously at Andrew, which signifies absolutely nothing cohesive “—so much going on, and it might be something you two also want to… do?”

It’s three days out from Nicky’s wedding. He’s a frazzled mess on the best of days, frantically planning what is apparently going to be the _best wedding anyone’s ever seen,_ but this is an entirely new level of chaos. He’s also lost his fear for Andrew’s inevitable retribution, if this line of questioning is anything to go by, and that just won’t do.

Andrew can’t bear to have Nicky feeling _comfortable_ around him.

“I don’t see why it matters,” he says idly as he entirely-coincidentally tugs at the seam of one of his armbands. 

It’s unsuccessful. Nicky pouts and makes a _tsk_ ing sound. “Well, that’s the point. There are two of you. Haven’t you ever talked about it?”

This conversation is nearly unbearable: Andrew would like nothing more than to physically vacate the area as quickly as possible, but unfortunately, the subject of Nicky’s conversation is exactly why he’s stuck here.

Still, he’ll do what he can.

Andrew stands up abruptly, startling the seamstress currently taking in the seam of Nicky’s slacks. “Smoke break,” he says, because he _has_ learned tact over the years, and saying, _I’m leaving you here_ would probably earn at least twenty minutes of berating from Neil.

He breathes much more easily once he’s outside and holding his lighter to the tip of an unlit cigarette. Time, alongside peace, has made a great many things easier, but that doesn’t mean he’s grown to be the type of person with who Nicky can casually converse about inane things.

_It might be something you two want to do._

Andrew doesn’t need that kind of confirmation about their relationship from Neil, nor does he need to discuss it with his cousin, of all people. They’re here in Germany to celebrate Nicky and Erik finally becoming a couple under the law, but such arbitrary conditions have never been a desire of Andrew’s. He and Neil have each other, and that’s enough.

* * *

“What do you even wear to a rehearsal dinner, anyway?” Neil asks, the toothbrush stuck in his mouth garbling his words. Andrew looks up at him from behind the book he’s reading. Beneath him, the hotel room’s sheets are stiff and smell vaguely of bleach.

“You could show up in your jersey and I think Nicky would still be delighted.”

There’s a glint in Neil’s eye like he’s genuinely considering it. Andrew scrunches his nose in distaste. “Just wear a nice shirt. It’s not like we don’t know almost everyone going, anyway.”

At least Neil has the decency to spit out the toothpaste in his mouth before he turns back into the bathroom’s doorway and says, “Good point. But I’m absolutely _dying_ to impress Erik’s parents, and don’t know what I’d do if they were disappointed.” 

“Disgusting,” Andrew says, stifling the corner of his own mouth threatening to quirk upward. He slides a well-worn receipt into the book’s pages before setting it aside. 

"Seriously,” Neil says as he flicks all of the lights off and climbs into the half of the bed Andrew’s not currently occupying. “I’m good at disguises. Think I could fool them into thinking I’m _not_ that famous mafia kid and charm the hell out of them?”

"Your idea of a disguise is a shitty dye job and cheap contacts,” Andrew says, shoving Neil’s freezing feet off of his calves. It’s like the man has an allergy to socks. “The only thing you’re charming yourself into is a one-way ticket out of the restaurant when they rightfully assume you’re insane.”

“Just for that horrible misinterpretation of my character, you’re not getting a goodnight kiss.”

It’s clear that Neil’s joking. It’s obvious that Neil’s joking, given the soft little giggle he lets out and the way he sidles up to Andrew beneath the blankets.

And yet.

Something small and bitter curls at the pit of Andrew’s stomach when he does not, in fact, receive a goodnight kiss. It would take nothing — well, not _nothing,_ but very little — for Andrew to initiate one, but Neil’s genuine excitement about the wedding stills him.

_Haven’t you ever talked about it?_

The words dig beneath Andrew’s skin, an irritation he can’t seem to rid himself of. He knows Nicky’s words are nonsense, that the parameters of _his_ relationships are nothing like how people like Andrew and Neil navigate the world. They don’t need the same kind of words to convey meaning. The wordless communication between them, their hearts falling into the same rhythm, is proof enough of that. Right? 

Andrew falls unconscious after an indeterminable amount of time, and his sleep is restless.

* * *

The wedding goes fine, until it doesn’t.

Neil’s excitement — at traveling for leisure rather than desperation, to see all of the Foxes, to celebrate a milestone in Nicky’s life unmarred by trauma and sadness — has carried Andrew across the sea and into Stuttgart. He knows, in all likelihood, he would have ended up here even without Neil, but it’s strange to be here and thrust into a role of responsibility for the wedding.

He probably should have predicted this, but Andrew’s tenuous relationship with family has left him utterly unprepared for the responsibilities of being a groomsman. It helps that he’s not alone, but there’s almost nothing that any of them could do to make this a _comfortable_ gathering.

It feels ridiculous now, as he stands beside Neil and Aaron and Matt in a stiff tuxedo, for Andrew to have assumed that he’d be able to spend the entirety of the ceremony trading quiet remarks with Neil about how tacky the decor is and how ridiculous it is that Erik’s sister is crying before he and Nicky even show up.

Instead, it’s deathly quiet, and Neil’s back is ramrod straight. He’s leveling an incredibly intense gaze at the guests, and Andrew knows he’s offering his full attention to the proceedings. It’s abundantly clear that Andrew’s going to have to grit his teeth and bear this absurd public ritual.

Beside him, Aaron shifts from foot to foot, like he’s incapable of standing for long periods of time despite the fact that he’s in his residency and works twelve-hour shifts on the daily. He keeps shooting glances at Katelyn, seated in the fourth row, and it makes Andrew’s skin itch. People really fall for this shit, don’t they?

It’s almost lucky that the ceremony starts before Andrew can consider too deeply who _else_ seems to be entirely caught up in the wedding. Erik strides down the aisle, confident and handsome in a sharply-cut tux, though Andrew does catch the fine tremor of nerves causing his hands to shake. 

It’s not long before Nicky’s following his footsteps — Erik had had his mother on his arm, and Nicky has Erik’s father linked arm-and-arm with him as they walk down the aisle — and Nicky looks as happy as Andrew’s ever seen him. 

For just a heartbeat, Andrew’s anxieties fall away, and he _gets_ it: the pomp, the grandeur, everything.

He doesn’t smile at Nicky when their eyes meet, though he does incline his head in a nod. Impossibly, Nicky’s grin widens even further, and he must be high off of endorphins, because he has the gall to _wink_ at Andrew.

The ceremony is short: neither Nicky nor Erik are particularly religious, and the exchanging of vows devolves fairly quickly when Nicky starts crying too hard to audibly finish his. It results in Erik hauling Nicky in by his suit lapels before the officiant has even finished saying, “You may now kiss your husband,” and the celebratory cheers and claps drown out any cohesive thoughts Andrew can have about Neil or his own relationship.

* * *

“Oh,” Neil says, quiet wonder coloring his features. “I didn’t know it could be like this.”

Andrew takes another sip of his drink. It’s red wine, bitter and flavorful, and he savors the way it slides down his throat. He tilts his head in question.

“Weddings,” Neil elaborates. “Or, well. _Relationships._ People getting married just because they like each other that much.”

“‘Like’ is an underwhelming word for any of Nicky’s emotions,” Andrew says, because it’s easier than saying _Is that something you want._

Neil grabs his own glass, takes a sip, and then wrinkles his nose in distaste. “You’re not wrong, but this is different. Everyone is so _happy_. I keep waiting for the ball to drop but — it’s not going to, is it?”

Making a considering noise in the back of his throat, Andrew looks around. He knows what Neil’s talking about: it isn’t as though _their_ parents were capable of such unabashed celebration and kindness.

Neil grins at him, happy and easy and like Andrew could give him the world. “It’s awesome. I think I love it.”

Instead of being bolstered by the words, by the sheer sentiment of how wonderful the entire wedding is, something sinks in Andrew’s stomach.

* * *

He’s not meant for any of this, of that Andrew is sure. The only reason he’s even here is because Neil wanted to be. Family doesn’t mean much other than broken promises and pain, and though it’s covered up with thousands of dollars and liberally-poured alcohol and expensive clothing, Andrew isn’t fooled by the wedding.

The transition from ceremony to reception involves Erik’s mother sweeping everyone into a forested area nearby for professional pictures, a regrettably mostly-sober thirty minutes wherein Andrew is coerced into providing photographic evidence of his blood relation to Nicky Hemmick. He feels a bit like a string pulled too taut, tension ever-threatening to tear it in two.

But Neil looks ecstatic. He seems to be on the same wavelength with everyone here, from Nicky himself to Dan and Allison chattering with enthusiasm about every aspect of the wedding, and Andrew is left, once again, on the outside. And while Andrew’s always known his own needs, and has typically been able to anticipate Neil’s needs, there’s something here that Andrew will never comprehend. That Neil keeps leaning into, eager for more. And the more he sees it, the harder it gets to breathe. 

Fuck.

As soon as the photographer tells Erik they're done, Andrew leaves. He doesn’t know where he’s going, not at first, but between one moment and the next, he finds himself at what looks like the venue’s back entrance. There are a surprising amount of cars lined up in this back parking lot — must be the staff.

There’s no reason for this to feel so off. Andrew takes the moment to rationalize it all, to quell the unwanted emotions that keep rising to the surface. He’s better than this — this base reaction to something unpleasant. It’s just a wedding, for fuck’s sake. 

It takes three tries to click his lighter correctly, but the rush of smoke into his lungs helps just the slightest bit. He relishes the control of choosing to do something so self-destructive, of burning the house down yourself before someone else can do it for you.

He could call Bee. It’s not a terrible idea, but the moment Andrew pulls his phone out and sees the time, he knows it’ll be impossible. Waking her up from a dead sleep to say _I think Neil wants to get married and have a wedding and be a normal person and all of that would kill me_ is overdramatic, even for him. 

The thing is, though, the more he mulls it over, the more it hurts. The more he realizes that this thing Neil’s on the cusp of realizing will ruin them. It might not be today, but it’s certainly coming.

Andrew’s never done anything conventionally — has never been given the chance to, and it’s far too late to try and operate in any other way. Even imagining himself in Nicky’s place right now makes him feel nauseous.

It’s not something he’s capable of. He’s not here because this is meaningful or necessary. He isn’t built for any of it.

But maybe Neil is. And if that’s the case, then it’s cruel to drag either of them through this for any longer.

He smokes four cigarettes down to the filter before he heads back into the banquet hall where the reception’s being held. 

Andrew sits down at the table that has very clearly become the designated Foxes seating arrangement. Neil offers him a smile and taps a few fingers on the top of Andrew’s hand before turning to argue with Matt and Kevin about some exy game none of them had even played in. Andrew only just barely manages not to react — Neil wouldn’t act so kindly if he knew what Andrew was going to do.

When dinner is served, he eats, the food turning to ash in his mouth. No one expects him to be an excellent conversationalist, which typically works to his benefit, but even Neil is too caught up in the whirlwind of the wedding and the college reunion to pay him much attention.

It doesn’t matter, he tells himself. It’s nothing.

Eventually, the DJ says, too loudly, something about the first dance. A loose cheer goes up around the already-inebriated crowd, and Nicky grabs at the mic and says, “I love you all. Oh my god. I’m definitely going to cry in about seven seconds, but thank you _so_ much for being here.”

Everyone _whoops_ again. Some sort of cliche slow-dancing song picks up over the speakers, and Erik pulls Nicky away from the microphone before he _really_ starts to cry. The two of them start to dance, and it’s simultaneously irritating and exhausting to watch them fawn over one another. Andrew turns away, chest tight with some unnamed feeling.

Some quip about overly-sappy public displays of affection is on the tip of Andrew’s tongue when he really registers Neil’s reaction.

He looks as though something unknown about the world has clicked into place in his mind, and Andrew can’t stand to see it. He can’t stand the very concept of Neil yearning for something like this — this visible, ostentatious declaration of love — while knowing Andrew can never provide such a thing. He can’t stand the absolute certainty of knowing Neil will never be this happy with him.

This needs to end. The anxiety thrumming beneath Andrew’s skin quickly boils over, and abruptly, Andrew can’t bear any of this for another moment.

He moves to grab at Neil’s elbow, to yank him in close, but given the storm brewing in his mind, that’s probably not fair. Andrew has no claim to any part of him, and so instead he says sharply, “Neil.”

“Mm?” Neil asks distractedly. Andrew stays silent, waiting for his full attention, and it feels like a lifetime has passed before Neil drags his gaze away from Erik and Nicky dancing together. “Yeah?”

“After the wedding,” Andrew says, heart thudding too loud for him to hear his own voice, “I’m done. This — us — is over.”

Confusion furrows Neil’s brow for a moment before his mouth falls open in surprise. Andrew very carefully does not think about how he’ll never take those lips up with his own again.

“What does that mean?”

It feels reckless. It feels stupid. It feels _exhilarating,_ like taking a sharp turn in the Maserati going so fast his tire squeal against the asphalt.

Andrew’s destructive, but everyone already knew that.

Neil didn’t, apparently. Or he wouldn’t look so upset right now.

“All of this,” Andrew says, and then he can’t bear to be here for another second, and spins on his heel to leave the reception hall.

Neil doesn’t follow him.

* * *

He’s been sitting in the driver’s seat of their rental car for twenty-four minutes. It feels like an eternity, rather than a comprehensible amount of time, but Andrew’s done nothing but stare at the green glow of the dashboard’s clock for the entire duration.

It almost helps, seeing how tangibly time can slip away when he’s on the verge of losing it completely. This complicates things, but Andrew is nothing but pragmatic. He can give up the cats much more easily than Neil: Andrew knows how much they mean to him. He’ll have to move his things from their apartment, possibly consider transferring teams once his contract’s up. 

Maybe quit Exy entirely.

His teeth are clenched so hard that pain radiates through his skull, and Andrew relishes the clear, precise focus it grants him. At least, he does until the passenger car door opens and Neil slides into the leather seat beside him.

“I’m missing something,” Neil says, which isn’t _Fuck you_ or _Take me to the hotel and get out_ or _Take your shit and leave_ or anything else he should probably be saying right now.

“It’s nothing,” Andrew responds. It’s reflex. It’s survival instinct.

Neil hums. “I’m not mad. Or, not anymore. That was a pretty shitty thing to do, but I just can’t figure out where it came from.”

"For fuck’s sake, Josten.” Neil’s always respected boundaries before: why is _this_ the single open wound he can’t stop prodding?

“Did I do something? Or Nicky? I'm sure we could have left early _without_ breaking up—“

“Knock it off,” Andrew snaps. His anger takes over, and isn't that ironic? He must have learned that from Neil. “I’ve seen you all fucking day. You love all of this shit. You want it for yourself. And I can’t — _won’t_ ever do it.”

Andrew’s expecting hurt to flash across Neil’s features, so he’s entirely unprepared for the rage he sees, instead. 

“Fuck you,” Neil says fiercely.

That’s a little more expected. He supposes he can handle that.

Before he can respond, though, Neil’s eyes narrow, and he says, sharply, “I thought you knew me, Andrew. When have you _ever_ gotten the idea that I want anything other than what we already have?”

Andrew’s throat clicks as he swallows. “Don’t bullshit me. I’m not stupid. I’ve seen how you’ve fawned over everything and everyone. Let this shit die so you can find someone to _marry._ ” The word tastes acrid in this mouth.

Neil’s voice drops into something dark and dangerous. “My entire life I’ve had to deal with the fallout of what I thought marriage truly was,” he says. Something’s building in Neil’s tone, something violent, and Andrew knows he deserves the backlash. Welcomes it, even. “It was a good day when my mom and I went to bed without bleeding, because it meant that their daily altercations didn’t become physical. I know you know exactly what it’s like to hear the word _marriage_ and know exactly what kind of filthy rot thrives beneath it. Before the Foxes, I didn’t know that love could be something other than poison, so how am I _not_ supposed to be awestruck by seeing it reach its full potential? What my parents had wasn't love. It was toxic and it nearly killed us all. But Nicky and Erik are different. Today’s supposed to be a day of celebration. I was _celebrating_.”

“It’s your family,” Andrew says, because it’s the truth. It’s the only thing he can focus on. “You can do whatever you want.”

“It’s _our_ family, Andrew. You’re allowed to be happy for them.”

“And you’re allowed to admit that this is going to be something you need. I just won’t be the one to give it to you.”

“Oh,” Neil says softly, and _there_ — his face softens as he lets go of his anger, and he leans forward in his seat, toward Andrew. Not close enough to touch, but an undeniable presence nonetheless. “Maybe this is something we should have talked about.”

Andrew refuses to meet his gaze. He wishes this were over with already: he’s not used to having to deal with the consequences of such impulsive actions. They typically scare everyone off and leave him in blissful peace.

Would that Neil could be less of a hurricane.

“I don’t want a ceremony or party or anything for us, Andrew. I just want you.”

“Then—" _why,_ Andrew wants to ask, but can’t. 

“Whatever that looks like. Whatever means we can have this.”

It feels like a lifetime ago that Andrew had said, _There is no this._ But it’s undeniable now to acknowledge that lie: he’s been gone for Neil for far too long.

Something like hope lights in his chest, small as the cherry of a cigarette. 

Andrew lets his head thud against the headrest of his seat. “It will never be easy.” Tonight’s a perfect example of that.

“Bullshit,” Neil says. He turns in his own seat until he’s fully facing Andrew. “It’s always easy.”

Despite himself, Andrew raises an eyebrow.

“Well,” he qualifies. “Except for right now, but I bodily shoved you out of bed and bruised the shit out of your ribs the last time _I_ had a bad day, so. It happens.”

He hates Neil so fucking much. _A bad day,_ like it’s something that will automatically reset as soon as his head hits the pillow.

“What if.” He doesn’t _hesitate:_ this is pathetic. He can say whatever he feels like saying. “What if it’s not enough.”

“It will always be enough,” Neil says, solemn and serious and dedicated like there’s nothing more important than this. It scares Andrew, both to recognize and acknowledge it. “This is it for me, you know? You and me. Forever.”

Nothing in his life has ever been so simplistic and yet so complicated. Everyone else is predictable in their disappointment, but Neil’s something Andrew has yet to fully account for. He stares out at the dark parking lot for too long, and his voice cracks ever-so-slightly when he says, finally, “Did you just propose to me at my cousin’s wedding? That’s in poor taste.”

It startles a laugh out of Neil. “You're the worst,” he says, but when Andrew manages to turn and look, there’s a tentative smile tugging at his lips. “Can I kiss you?”

 _Only if you mean it,_ Andrew thinks. He feels a bit more courageous after having thought it, and says as much aloud.

“Always,” Neil swears, and then he’s hauling himself over the center console of the car to clumsily kiss Andrew. His eyes burn, and he feels like he’s been hit by a truck, but somehow, it’s still perfect.

* * *

They go back. Neil speaks for the both of them, offering Nicky and his new husband congratulations. Andrew stays silent, a constant presence at Neil’s side, as they make their excuses to head back to the hotel — jetlag, too much to drink, headaches from the loud music.

Nobody needs to know what’s happened — or what didn’t happen. Through it all, Andrew craves Neil’s closeness worse than the tobacco addiction that fuels him.

* * *

The airplane is quiet, though the facade of peace does hardly anything to quell Andrew’s nerves. Neil tucks his head into Andrew’s shoulder, murmuring softly, “What was your plan for this plane ride home? Glare menacingly at me from two inches away?”

“Shut up,” Andrew responds. He hadn’t gotten that far, and is grateful he never will; he doesn’t need to hear about it now or ever.

Neil’s nose brushes against the hard line of Andrew’s jaw. “Hey,” he says. “I love you. You know that, right?”

The words _should_ set Andrew on edge. They’re heavy, weighed down with emotions that he’s never formed a real attachment to before, but.

But. He thinks he understands. He feels it too. And maybe _that’s_ enough.

“Yeah,” Andrew says gruffly. He runs his hand through Neil’s hair, still tacky with product. “I know.”  
  
  


_ yeah, late nights get the best of me  
they know how to get to me  
suicide thoughts come and go like a guest to me  
but i don't wanna die, i just wanna get relief _


End file.
